When Family Matters
by westernmelody
Summary: Seven brothers meet under unexpected circumstances and try to create a family unit, dealing with seven different personalities and life experiences. Can they pull together enough to stop some of them from leaving permanently. All seven brothers are featured, along with Nettie, Inez, Rain and Casey.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm home!" Buck announced as he slammed the door after him. He toed off his boots in the mudroom, flinging them in mid-air against the wall and strolled into the living room where Chris was reading the newspaper, Josiah was reading his Bible and Nathan was pouring over a medical journal.

"Did you hear something?" Nathan questioned his other brothers.

"Could have been a herd of buffalo," Josiah suggested, without looking up.

"Maybe we had an earthquake," Chris said, also not looking up.

"Ha, ha, you're so funny!" Boisterous Buck sat, flopping on the couch so hard it unsettled Chris. Buck then put his feet on the coffee table, crossing them and leaning back. "You sure missed a good 'ole time at Rosie's. I had a contest . . ."

Josiah groaned, but Buck continued without pausing, "to see whether the ladies liked me better with or without my beautiful mustache."

"You know we have to ask," Nathan said with resignation, "or he'll never shut up."

"So what were the results?" Chris asked without any apparent interest.

"About sixty-forty, Chris, for the mustache! I had two jars where everyone who wanted to vote put in a dollar for and against!"

"And how much did you make off those fool drunks who had nothing better to do with their money except spend it on frivolous things and not on supporting the Red Cross?" Nathan asked, getting ready to start on his favorite soapbox.

Hurrying to cut him off, Buck boasted, "$200! Think of that, Nate!"

A large grimace was the response Buck got.

"All right, all right," Buck grumbled. "I'll put half for the Red Cross."

Josiah looked over at Buck, raising his right eyebrow and frowning in a subtle, threatening way.

"And half in the church offering," Buck gave in, a bit sullenly.

"The Lord loveth a cheerful giver," Josiah smiled while Chris and Nathan laughed.

"Well, the good Lord could have given me a few more siblings with a sense of humor and less like little old ladies," was Buck's response.

Chris, Nathan and Josiah exchanged smiles. While they all enjoyed Buck's high spirits, the other three also needed quiet. Buck couldn't even be quiet in his sleep, snoring loudly according to Nathan, who as a smaller boy, had to share a room with him. Lincoln Larabee gave Nathan his own room after watching Nate looking up poisons in a book. That was one of the times Linc knew his youngest son would become a doctor. Linc had thought Nathan too young, but after a few experiments on his brothers, tending wounds with toothpaste, listerine, and other things causing pain and causing Nate to flee for his life when the medical lab rats revolted, Linc got eight-year-old Nate medical books, which Nate devoured at a pace that amazed his teachers.

Josiah was the oldest and the result of a teenage fling Linc had with Maria Sanchez. Linc Larabee was not ready to be a parent, and Maria Sanchez, along with her parents, raised Josiah. Therefore, Josiah had spent most of his life with his mother and grandparents, but did have contact with his father and brothers. Josiah had been a rebellious teenager and carried a lot of anger towards his father. After enlisting and spending time deployed, Josiah had undergone a change from the wild and reckless young man he used to be. He spent a lot of his time reflecting on life and its meaning and was fascinated with religion, philosophy, and psychology.

The Chris Larabee on the couch also was not the same as he had been a few years back. He and Buck used to get into scrapes when younger and with Josiah when he was around, and were both reckless and fun-loving. Then Chris met Sarah, married her and had a son, Adam. After they were killed in a crash, Chris became more like an empty shell of a man staying close to the ranch and brooding and drinking way too much. The anger he had tried to control most of his life was just under the surface and could explode at any minute.

Buck was the son who most resembled his father in terms of loving woman. Fun-loving, gregarious, Nathan frequently called him Peter Pan, who refused to grow up.

Josiah got up and walked to the library to find another interesting book on psychology. While surfing through the shelves, he accidentally knocked a few off the shelf and when he bent to pick them up, one had opened and pictures and notes were scattered on the floor. Scanning a few, Josiah was stunned.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

The greyhound bus had been nearly full when the slight teenager boarded, so instead of getting to sit in the back seats, he had to sit four rows up and he turned and leaned his head on the window and sat quietly for hours.

The older woman who had sat beside him, had been covertly observing the teenager while knitting a gray blanket. Very young, she felt, mid-teens with a slight build, dark hair, and a pale face. Of Irish descent, she knew instantly. She knew he was just pretending to gaze at the scenery. He only spoke once, when she had asked to sit beside him, manufacturing a slight smile while murmuring, "Of course."

The bus stopped at a restaurant, and all of the passengers stood up to stretch and then exit the bus - except the boy beside her. She started to leave, and then considered. "Son, aren't you going to get up and stretch and get something to eat?"

The boy turned towards her, face blank.

She repeated her words and he blinked.

"I . . . I . . . might just stay. I'm not hungry." The dullness in his voice and the sadness in his eyes brought a slight moisture to her eyes.

"You need to stretch at least. Do you mind keeping me company? It's a bit lonesome traveling by myself. Please?" She had seen a polite refusal beginning in his face, but he stopped and again manufactured a slight smile.

"Of course, ma'am. It would be my pleasure." He even helped her down the bus steps and guided her to a far corner.

More manners than most kids today she thought as he even held the chair for her and she sat down. Someone did a good job of teaching the boy manners. She scanned the menu, saying, "I think I'll keep it light with a chef salad and iced tea. And you?"

He took the menu, but she could tell he wasn't seeing it. "I . . . I am not really hungry."

"But you need to eat," she smiled persuasively at him. "How about a cheeseburger, fries and coke? My treat? For keeping me company."

He blushed. "Oh, I can buy it. Maybe just a hamburger."

"Son, you look like you need a bit of mothering, let me buy." She didn't imagine the sudden stiffness in his face and pain in his eyes at her words.

"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" she began.

"My mother's dead," he said flatly.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, when . . ."

"Two weeks ago," and with a murmured, "Excuse me," he jerked up, upsetting his chair and fleeing to the bathroom.

Disturbed, she looked after him. So that is what it is. Poor child.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

The tall, lanky young man with a tan hat, cowboy boots and a leather fringed jacket took the glass of beer from the bartender in the run down area near Las Vegas.

"''Bliged," he nodded, taking a sip while still studying the doorway that led into the small bar.

"Passin' through?" the bartender began as a usual opening gambit.

"Might stay awhile," was the brief answer.

The young man didn't look terribly out of place in the small bar near Las Vegas, hell, he looked more normal than a lot of the usual kooks that showed up. His intense blue eyes, long light brown hair and watchfulness in his manner gave him a look of a man not to be messed with.

Clearly, for him, what happens in Vegas with him stays in Vegas.

"Hola, chico," called a Hispanic man, smirking. "Your hound scent must be off. I've been here for ten minutes."

"What you think, Rafie. Spotted you two blocks ago. You'll never ketch 'ole Eli Joe if you're that obvious."

"Ay, compadre, it is you I think will never catch him. Too Lone Ranger."

"What does that make you, Tonto?" retorted the "Lone Ranger" man.

"No, I just have amigos for help, senor. Sometimes I get messages from our Lobo."

"Ain't interested."

"Ay, you should be. I believe this is for you, senor Tanner."

Vin frowned but took the small envelope. Inside was the Ace of Spades card.

"A threat, senor?" Raphael Cordero grinned at him.

Vin calmly tore the Ace of Spades card into pieces and flipped them into the trash can. He turned sideways to the grinning Mexican man.

"I would not take that so lightly, my friend. Eli Joe does not bluff. It is possible the fox is more the hound."

"Never seen you so timid, Rafe. Eli Joe send you his calling card?"

"Ah, amigo, and I would not be so concerned if he did. He sent a card to my little brother, Miguel." Rafe's voice hardened as he looked at Vin. "I am fortunate to have amigos and familia. Eli Joe is not above hurting amigos and family, as you know."

"And you wonder why I prefer solo? I have no family or friends. Just acquaintances.

No brothers fortunately. No one for 'ole Eli to use against me." Vin Tanner drained his beer, tossed some coins on the bar and turned to the handsome Mexican man.

"Take care of your brothers, Raphael. I will take care of our lobo."

As Vin Tanner walked off, the man grinned after him. "Good luck, amigo. You will need it if the lobo picks up your scent first."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chris, Buck, and Nathan were all gathered around the dining room table where Josiah was carefully laying out letters and pictures.

"No, I have never seen any of these!" Nathan exclaimed.

"Look at this!" Buck said. "Pictures of a baby, a red-headed child. and a blonde woman with the child. Have you ever seen this woman?"

All shook their heads.

"Boy looks like a peacock and his mother . . . well, high-society type. Why would Dad know them?"

"Anything on the back of the pictures?" Nathan asked.

Chris turned one over, the one of the woman and a boy of about eight. "Maude and Ezra," he read.

Josiah shook his head. "Never saw or heard of a Maude. And I think I would know if I had seen her - she is quite beautiful."

Buck snatched the picture from Josiah. "Quite a looker."

"This picture was taken over twenty years ago, Buck. She's too old for you."

"Age is only a state of mind," Buck said smugly.

"Why were these hidden?" Josiah's abrupt question brought everything to a halt.

"Hidden?" Nathan queried.

"If I hadn't been clumsy and knocked some books down, I wouldn't have found them."

"What do the letters say?" Chris demanded.

"Do you think it's right to look at them, Chris? They're private," Nathan argued.

"It concerns our family, we look," Chris made the decision. Each took a few letters and read them, shaking their head.

"Seems Dad met this woman - Maude in Las Vegas, and they had an affair. Ezra . . . Ezra is Maude's son. And Dad's."

Buck whistled. "Our brother."

Josiah frowned. "Looks like Maude refused to marry Dad, but bled him for money - to support his child - but refused to have a paternity test done."

"Do you think Ezra wasn't Dad's?" Buck asked, frowning.

"Dad thought Ezra was his son. He constantly asked Maude - Standish to visit Ezra. And be a part of his life. Shit." Chris threw the letters down.

"What a mess," Josiah agreed.

"Why didn't Dad tell us?" Chris cursed. "Why didn't he think we had a right to know?"

"Maybe he was trying before the stroke," Nathan suggested. "He was very agitated about something."

"Yeah, about keeping a secret son," Chris said with disgust. "I need a drink." Chris walked swiftly to the refrigerator, took out four cans, and as he slammed out of the door, muttered, "or four or five."

"I'm for searching for this Maude Standish and Ezra. She may be beautiful, but reminds me of a black widow spider," Nathan tapped the picture.

"I think you're right, Nate. We can't get answers from Dad. We have to find them.  
Ezra," Josiah said thoughtfully. "I wonder what Ezra is doing now?"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Ezra Standish was dealing cards at the latest Las Vegas casino, the Golden Palace with its gold, gold, and more gold decor, obscenely lavish and pretentious, Ezra thought contemptuously as King Midas' castle. Ezra doubted the sanity of the owner and his taste in decor and architecture. At the center table, Ezra dealt blackjack cards to eager would be millionaires. From heavily made up bejeweled women to would be stylish men, Ezra's table was the ONE to try one's fortune.

Ezra was dressed in designer clothes, a flashy gold jacket (which Ezra hated) and shoes. Ezra's good looks, manners and smile had attracted most of the gold-digging women. Ezra smiled, flirted, and deftly turned down invitations from the women, most of whom reminded Ezra of Maude.

Maude's advice to marry one of the wealthy women enamored with Ezra was also a reason he shied clear of them. Not that he ever lacked invitations, from one-night stands to paid companion and to marriage.

Ezra was glad when his shift ended, going upstairs to change into less formal clothes, toss the hated gold jacket down and stare at his carefully arranged reddish mustache. Thus far, he had escaped detection and the retaliation from Maude's latest get-rich scheme. Though innocent of the fraud, Ezra would be blamed while Maude floated away as pure as the driven snow.

Ezra upended his silver flash, coughing slightly and then raising his flash in a mock toast. "Here's to you, Mother! You have outwitted me once again!"

Ezra was feeling a bit maudlin after checking out some of the families on the strip. They may not be the best, but at least they had backup. Ezra only had Maude. His father, according to Maude, had not wanted him. She had used him to gain money from men she claimed was his father. Sometimes Ezra wondered why his mother gave birth to him, considering she had never been maternal. He was only useful to her in cons.

And then he was left behind with others when younger or now he was grown, left to his own devices. No one to count on. Ezra drained the flash. Might as well get some sleep while he could. He dreamed again of a real family where he was loved and wanted. And then he would wake and sigh. Like that dream would ever become real. He would bet the house on it.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

The dark-haired teenager was murmuring in his fitful sleep aboard the Amtrak train. "Mama," he would say in a soft but heartbreaking voice, "Please, Mama, don't leave me; I don't have anyone but you, Mama, please, please."

Nettie Wells, the traveling companion to the youth, ached in her heart to hear the pleading in the boy's voice. His head tossed fretfully back and forth and tears slid down his closed eyes.

"Son," she said gently, giving him a little shake.

His eyes did not open, but his mouth opened slightly. "Mama?"

Nettie Wells, a slight woman with a stern countenance, felt moisture in her eyes. Knowing the boy had not slept well or eaten well, she raised the arm between them and drew the boy towards her. "It's all right, son," she said gently, stroking the soft, dark hair. "Just rest." She felt him relax against her, falling into a restful sleep.

Nettie had worked in social services for years and had to steel her heart to sad and abusive situations to be able to do her job. But this boy had found his way into her heart and she was determined to help him the best she could. She did not know as yet his name, his age or where he was traveling to, but had persuaded him to accompany her on the train, where it had a dining car, sleeping car, and the seats were more roomy and comfortable than the bus seats. But her attempts to get the boy to eat were fruitless, and she had to use his good manners and her pretense of being nervous alone to get him to accompany her. She was more nervous for him. His very boyish, innocent looking appearance plus his small and slight form gave him the appearance of a lamb among the wolves. And Nettie Wells had not liked the looks of some of the wolves on the bus. In Vegas, where she worked in a small office, as anywhere else were pimps and others eager to take advantage of runaways with no money and no place to go.

She didn't know the boy was a runaway, but he had so many signs of not having anything or anyone and she wasn't about to let him fall through the cracks.

Nettie had worked with hard cases and youths already hardened by life and did the best she could, knowing there would be failures.

But this was an innocent. He just needed some help. Her jaw tightened. He would get the help he needed. She had a long-time friend who also had experience in dealing with teens. She would get into contact with Josiah Sanchez once she reached the outskirts of Vegas.


	7. Chapter 7

The tall, sturdily built man sporting a scar on his left cheek, a hooked nose and cold brown eyes, strutted down the streets in Las Vegas, hands in his khaki pants and blue shirt, seeming to casually take in the scenery, but missing nothing. There were always rich people to be conned, pockets to pick, drugs to sell, runaways to entice. A girl sitting alone by a water fountain looked promising, a mousy type he could charm into prostitution or perhaps pass along to some of his "buyers" he could count on to reward him well in trading for his goods, whether inanimate objects or humans. And Eli Joe cared not how he made his fortune.

Anything for money. Eli Joe lived for a good time; outfoxing his victims and pursuers. He was an adrenaline junkie. And the hunt. Eli Joe smiled, showing crooked teeth while thinking of leaving the Ace of Spades for Miguel Cordova to find. Raphael Cordova was brave, but would be concerned about his fourteen-year-old little brother, Miguel. That should throw Cordova off the trail for a while. A bullet had put a stop to one Lawrence Manning; a drunken hit-and-run ceased the pursuit by former police officer Anita Castillo.

But the biggest threat of them all – a lone wolf by the name of Vincent Michael Tanner remained. Eli Joe snarled. Tanner was the craftiest of them all and appeared to have no apparent weakness. Tanner was a long-time rival in bounty hunting, in which they both started their careers. Every time Eli Joe zeroed in on a big-time target, Tanner beat him to it. Eli Joe hated losing and hated that Tanner was responsible for some of his cousins and the one person he thought of as his best friend, if Eli Joe had such a thing, ended up in prison and Marco, the friend, was knifed in prison.

Eli Joe mused on Tanner as he kept his eye on targets. Ahh, a drunken wealthy man and his loaded wallet, Eli walked by and pinched and then threw the wallet callously in the trash. A few hundred, a fair gain. There, by the pool, a gangly but cute young teenager, just the right type for certain wealthy foreign men. If his parent(s) ignored him for the casino, he might have a good chance; there was a rising demand for pretty boys, and since prostitution was legal in Vegas, jail bait ones.

A teenage Vin Tanner would have been perfect; but the wily Texan had grown up fast and had seen through Eli Joe's grooming. In fact, Tanner had informed on him, and Eli Joe had to flee Texas, change his appearance and lose his profit-making supply of drugs and teenagers to Mexico.

Eli growled. Tanner had to have a weakness. Had to be something. There was no girlfriend to go after, no family, no fondness for drugs or alcohol. Tanner never drank enough to let his guard down.

Someday, Tanner, Eli smirked. Someday I'll find that weakness and make you wish you had never been born. And then he started. It was some distance away, but he sensed more than saw the presence of the hound. Eli smiled cruelly. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Too bad for you, Tanner.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Ezra Standish strolled down the streets of Las Vegas searching for a restaurant away from stench of the crowds, the strong perfumes and cigar smells, and the watchful eyes of his bosses. Ezra started out to find food, but ended up drinking more and more brandy and descending into a pit of drink and anger.

Of course, Maude would not call. Of course, she would not check on him. It didn't matter to her that Ezra was turning thirty today. No matter how many times Ezra chided himself for being foolish, his anger grew. Just once – just once, she could have remembered. Just once she could have surprised him. The birthday cake could have been stale and the decorations hideous and the present only costing a few cents – but Ezra would not have cared if only she'd remembered. She never did. The one time the ecstatic boy had a wonderful birthday party was when her then paramour had been nice to Ezra and Maude put on her best motherly show to impress the poor sucker – Jem? Pem? Grem? Whatever his name had been. He lasted only a few months – he was deceived and dazzled by Maude's pretended devotion to him and when Maude had found a much bigger fish to fry and dumped him.

Ezra had been too young to know Maude had considered the party a waste of time, Queen Maude of eternal beauty and youth. When he had heard Maude talking to a friend of hers on the phone about having to bribe some of Ezra's friends to attend and how the whole thing bored her, Ezra was crushed. And when the nicest one of Maude's conquests had been dumped; Ezra then became afraid that he would be dumped as well. Security became an unknown word to the sad little boy.

Ezra did a one-eighty turn, staring all the false glitter and promise of wealth and good times. Mockingly, he held up his gold flash and then began to sing in an unsteady and off-key tenor:

"Happy Birthday to me! I'm thirty you see!

So Maude's over fifty! More wrinkles to thee!"

Ezra bowed extravagantly to the bewildered onlookers. "Thank you! Thank you very much!"

Another gulp and, "Elvis has left the building now!"

"And you, fancy pants, have left the planet," a tall man with brown hair and a mustache muttered as Ezra bumped him. Buck steadied the man, "Whoa! Steady, Pard!"

A short distance away, Eli Joe, hidden in the crowd, raised a pistol and sighted a young man in buckskin walking swiftly towards Ezra and Buck and waited. In the noise and bustle and with the silencer, the shot would not be heard. A chance to get the human foxhound off his trail forever . . . Eli Joe squeezed the trigger.


	9. Chapter 9

"Release me this instant you, you poor imitation of Wyatt Earp!" Ezra demanded as he glared at Buck.

"No sweat off my back, mister," Buck answered as he released his hold on Ezra.

With Ezra pulling away and Buck letting go, Ezra staggered off-balance into a running Vin, causing Vin to stumble and fall along with Ezra; Vin raining curses down on his misfortune as Eli Joe disappeared into the crowd.

"Get offa me!" Vin raged.

Buck, stood with both arms crossed in amusement as he looked at the two lying on the sidewalk.

"I beg your pardon!" Ezra exclaimed as he exchanged glares with Vin. "This poor version of John Wayne pushed me into you! He owes us both an apology, pilgrim!" as his voice turned into a poor imitation of the Duke.

As Ezra's eyes began to focus again, he continued, "My, my! Must be old west heroes and villains contest day! Rooster Cogburn and Doc Holliday!" Then whispering as if revealing a big secret, he advised, "You both will lose!"

"You look more like a snake-in-the-grass used car salesman!" Vin retorted, still looking for Eli Joe from his prone position.

"I am a gentleman! And both you galoots still owe me a . . . . my golden flash!" Ezra wailed as he held up the flash with a large hole in the middle and leaking out the rest of the brandy. "You have irretrievably damaged my golden flash! Just look at this misshapen hole and now my brandy is leaking!"

"'Pears your brain is leaking, Pard," was Buck's comment. He leaned to give the man in buckskin a hand up, and Vin took it, but gasped as stood up, gingerly putting his left foot down.

"You okay, Pard?" Buck asked in concern, still holding Vin by the arm.

"Buck what mess have you gone and gotten yourself in now?" Josiah asked as he hurried to the chaotic scene, along with a scowling smaller man who was dressed in all black.

Buck shrugged and looked towards the second man who was frowning as he appraised the scene. "You know me, Chris, just trying to help a fellow man in distress," Buck said blandly.

Ezra looked up and blinked as the sun temporarily blinded most of his vision. "The man in black! Johnny Cash! No, no, wait, Johnny Cash has black hair not just black clothes. And if I remember correctly, he has left the building, no that was Elvis but both are deceased . . . maybe," he rambled as he spotted an Elvis impersonator and temporarily forgot his mutilated flask of brandy.

"You're hurt," Josiah said with concern, looking at the pain on Vin's face and noticing Vin favoring his left leg.

"Thanks to this lunatic drunk . . . ."

"You'd better thank this lunatic drunk; otherwise your head would have a hole in it and not the flask," Chris cut Vin off sharply.

"Are they talking about me?" Ezra asked his flask, sticking his index finger through the hole.

"What do you mean, Chris?" Buck asked in surprise.

Chris snatched the flash from Ezra's protesting hand and showed the men the hole.

"This would have been you head if you hadn't stumbled," he said sharply to Vin.

Vin's blue eyes and Chris's green eyes met in dislike. For a moment, each held the other's gaze.

"You didn't hear the shot, Buck?" Josiah queried.

"Too much noise."

"Who's trying to kill you?" Chris demanded of Vin.

Vin shook his head guardedly.

"Kill me?" Ezra said fearfully. "They're here?" He scrambled to his feet, ducking down behind the men.

Buck frowned. "Wait a minute, which one of them was someone trying to kill?"

A local policeman joined the group. "Did I hear the word kill?"

Josiah, Chris and Buck didn't know what to say and Vin shrugged, saying, "My ankle is killing me."

Officer Banks frowned, suspecting the men of stonewalling him. "Someone tell me what is going on here or I could arrest all of you and you can cool off in jail until someone talks. I know I heard the word kill."

"You are so right, Officer . . . Tanks?" Ezra burst out. "Just look at my poor flask! Murdered in its prime! Why, I've had this for over ten years, pure gold and it's ruined, oh my poor friend, ruined!" He ended, caressingly the flask lovingly.

Officer 'Tanks' focused on Ezra. "How much have you been drinking?" He asked in disgust.

Sensing Ezra was about to be arrested, Vin spoke up to protect his unlikely savior. "Officer, my poor friend and I fell down when this man," pointing to Buck, "accidentally tripped us. I banged my weak ankle and he hit his head. He's just a little confused."

Chris confirmed, "My brother has a clinic one block from here. Dr. Nathan Jackson. I'll make sure to get both some medical care, seeing it was my brother Buck that caused the whole thing . . . purely on accident."

Josiah added, "Brother Buck was probably admiring a pretty woman, and Vegas does have a lot of beautiful women."

"Hmmmm," Officer Banks was not convinced but a fight breaking out between two burly men across the street seemed more demanding of his immediate attention. "All right, how about all of you men getting off the street and making sure these two injured men are taken care of." And with that the officer loped across the street to break up the fight.

"Well, I'll be moving on; thanks for saving my life, Pard," Vin said as he tried to limp away.

Chris had an evil grin on his face. "You're not going anywhere but Nathan's clinic, Pard."

"And so are you," Josiah added, taking ahold of Ezra.

As they walked off, Buck had the last word. "Why did everyone have to blame me?"


	10. Chapter 10

Once again, Nettie and JD were on a bus, traveling the last few miles to Las Vegas.

Though Nettie had been trying, JD remained quiet, and Nettie was sure now, deeply depressed. Not once had she seen a spark in his hazel eyes, they were dull. He couldn't sleep well, barely ate, and drank water only at her insistence. Her concern grew deeper and deeper as the time passed.

"Have you ever been to Las Vegas?" she began as he stared out of the bus window, still not seeing the view.

"Oh, no , , , no," he stammered.

"Not here to gamble?" Nettie teased.

He shook his head no.

"Son . . . I know you don't like me calling you that, but after two buses and a long Amtrak ride, I don't know your name. As I have told you, I am Nettie Wells. There isn't any harm in me knowing yours, is there?"

"JD," the boy said softly. "For John Daniel."

"Nice to know you, JD."

"Too many boys named John in my school," he said, smiling a little. "I like being called JD."

"I think it suits you, JD." Nettie got another tiny smile for that. "Do you have relatives in Las Vegas?"

"I'm . . . I'm not sure," JD stammered. "Mom had a cousin in Las Vegas, I thought I would look her up. And maybe a man who might be my D. . ." and JD stopped abruptly and bit his lip.

Nettie could have sworn the boy was about to said, "Dad," and her curiosity grew.

Making up her mind, she gave JD her card, with her name and address. "If you ever need someone, please don't hesitate to call me, young man."

"Oh, I'll be . . . I'll be fine."

"This is a hard city, JD. Has a lot of crime along with gambling and prostitution. It's legal here. This is a hard city," she repeated.

JD said softly, "So is Boston."

The bus pulled to a stop in downtown Las Vegas and the passengers departed. JD helped Nettie down as she said, "These old legs of mine are not as steady as they used to be."

As she stood, holding his hands as they were facing each other. "JD, I can't thank you enough for taking care of me on this journey. I would love to do something for you, would you like to dine with me? I can show you around a little, tell you what to avoid. If you need a place to stay, I have a house with three bedrooms and you'd be welcome to stay with me until you can call your cousin. What do you say?"

"I . . . yes, thank you, I could eat dinner with you."

"Good. I know a really good place that my niece loves. I'll call a taxi and we'll go to the

Eiffel Tower restaurant."

She was pleased to see a spark of interest in the boy's eyes. Things seemed to be working out after all.


End file.
